The Best Proof of Love
by Marla Fair
Summary: A WHN and WHB for Bonanza's 13th season story 'Bushwhacked'. Have you ever wondered why, in his fever dreams, Little Joe saw his big brother Hoss holding a gun on him and pulling the trigger? This is my idea of why such a thought would have entered Joe Cartwright's head.
1. Prologue

The Best Proof of Love

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"If thy brother wrongs thee, remember not so much his wrong-doing, but more than ever that he is thy brother." – Epictetus

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Prologue – The Present

oooooooooo

Hoss Cartwright stood with his hand on the latch in the darkened hall outside his little brother's bedroom, debatin' whether or not to open the door. After all these years – nigh onto thirty of them since Joe'd been born – you'd think he'd be used to wakin' in the middle of the night to someone screamin' like the house was on fire or maybe they was bein' murdered in their bed. Pa'd cautioned him and Adam years ago not to get so used to it that they ignored what they heard. _Dagburnit,_ though! It was a hard thing _not_ to do. While Joe wasn't exactly cryin' wolf, it was kind of like that. Every time him and Adam climbed out of bed and padded over to Joe's room, they'd find him sound asleep in the middle of a whirlwind of covers, fightin' like he was afraid it was gonna carry him away. Wakin' that little scamp durin' a nightmare was takin' your life in your hands. More than once him and Adam – and even Pa – had come out of that room with black eyes or worse.

Thing was, for the last few years, nights on the Ponderosa had been perdy, well, peaceful. As Joe got older, it seemed he found a way to deal with his demons durin' the day so's he didn't have to fight them at night. Pa said it had to do with Adam leavin'. That once older brother was gone, Joe 'came into his own'. They sure did fight, them two. Seemed Adam could never get it through that thick head of his that Joe was all growed up, and Joseph, well, the boy knew he was growed up but felt like he _wasn't_ when Adam was around. Hoss snorted. A second later his upper lip curled. If anyone would've asked him – and no one ever did – he'd have said the problem was his two brothers was too much alike.

Hoss heard a sound. He tilted his head and listened.

Joe was whimperin'. Cryin', maybe.

The big man ran a hand through his thinning hair. The way he saw it, it was a good thing little brother was so gosh darn stubborn. If Joe wasn't, well, most like he wouldn't be here now shoutin' to wake the dead.

 _He'd_ be dead.

Hoss pressed his forehead against the door and drew in a breath, seeking to stifle the impotent rage that unexpectedly roiled up within him. It weren't much more than a week ago he'd run into Tom Griswold's house and found that mangy dog, Jim Fenton, tryin' to smother his baby brother with a pillow. He wanted to kill him. He'd hoped he _had_ when he took hold of that snake and shoved him through the window. Fact was, when he saw that good-for-nothin' sheriff cartin' both Jim Fenton and Ed Flanders away, he was sorely disappointed to see they was able to walk. Jail was too good for them! They deserved to suffer like Joe'd been made to suffer. Shootin' him in the back. Leavin' him to bleed out and die. And then tryin' to kill him while he was sleepin'!

The big man drew in a breath. He straightened up and looked down the hall toward his father's room. Pa was plumb wore out from all of it. He wasn't gettin' any younger and seein' Joe so bad off had taken a lot out of him. The trip back from the Griswolds had been as hard on Pa as it had been on his brother. Maybe harder. Joe was in pain most of the way, even though he said he wasn't. He'd driven the wagon as cautiously as he could, careful to avoid every rut and bump – just like he was carryin' nitro. Didn't make no difference. By the time they got close to home, Joe was fevered again and out of his head and Pa, well, Pa was sittin' between little brother and the saddle holdin' him up and lookin' scared to death.

Joe slept like the dead for near two days after that.

The third day, the nightmares began.

Hoss turned back toward his brother's room. Joe was yellin' again. It was the same thing every night. When he opened the door he'd find little brother on his bed, pressed up against the headboard like he was tryin' to get away, or on the floor starin' at the ceilin'. Either way, Joe'd have one hand out like he was reachin' toward somethin'. There'd be a flicker of a smile and then, fast as a preacher takin' up a collection, little brother's mouth would form an 'O', his eyes'd go wide, and he'd jerk just like he'd been shot.

Then he'd call his name.

The big man sucked in air and let it out slowly. Everythin' that was in him wanted to turn around and go back to bed. He'd been fightin' with himself since they got Joe home and he was fightin' still. He was pretty sure he knew what Joe was seein' _and_ why. Pa didn't know nothin' about it. Joe knew, but he didn't remember.

He knew, and it shamed him.

A loud thump and a pitiful cry made his mind up for him. Joe's wounds weren't healed yet. Doc Martin had warned them that little brother needed to keep as still as possible so he didn't break them stitches open and bring on a new infection. Paul was shakin' his head as he walked away with Pa. It had been close. _Real_ close.

Joe could still die.

Makin' his mind up, Hoss lifted the latch and stepped into the room. The moon was high and the light shinin' in the window showed him his brother's bed was empty. Joe was on the floor again, them big green eyes of his open, seein' somethin' on that ceilin' only he could see. His hands were reachin' for it.

The moonlight showed him somethin' else too – the tears on his brother's face.

Hoss halted near the end of the bed. He knew from experience not to try to touch him. "Joe," he called. "Joe, you gotta wake up. You hear me?"

His brother rolled onto his side and looked up. There was that smile again, like he was happy to see someone.

He advanced a step closer. "Little Joe! You hear me? You're dreamin'. You need to wake up."

Maybe that'd do it. Joe _sure_ did hate being called 'little' anymore.

Like before, his brother's lips formed his name.

 _Hoss._

Then he started screamin'.

 _Dagnabit!_ He couldn't stand it. He'd just take that black eye!

As he knelt by Joe, the big man reached out and took him by the shoulders. "Joe, it's me. It's Hoss! Joe, you're home and you're safe. Come on now, you gotta wake up!"

Joe shuddered. He blinked and then looked right at him. In his eyes there was such stark terror that Hoss knew what he had to do.

It was time to confess.

oooooooooo

"Thanks...Hoss," Joe said as he released him and let him fall back against the pillows. Little brother was all out of breath, like he'd been runnin' a race.

"You want to tell me about it?" he asked as he pulled a chair up to the bed.

Joe scowled. "I'm not a kid anymore. I don't need someone to 'make it all right'."

Hoss pursed his lips. He felt lower than a snake's belly. "Maybe I should put that different, Joe. I _need_ you to tell me about it."

Joe's jaw grew tight. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared like a bull gettin' ready to charge. It almost made him laugh. He'd seen that look since the boy was knee-high to a grasshopper and knew he used it to scare people away. Worked most of the time too.

'Course, not with him.

His brother continued to glare at him for several heartbeats and then, all of a sudden, went as limp as a neck-wrung rooster. Joe turned his head into the pillow and closed his eyes.

"I'm tired, Hoss," he mumbled. "Go away. Let me sleep."

The big man hung his hands between his knees. "Well now, Joe, if goin' away would let you sleep, I'd do that. But both you and I know it ain't. You got somethin' in your craw and you need to come out with it."

"No. I don't."

"You ain't gonna hurt me by sayin' it," he said softly.

Joe shook his head. "Hoss, don't. Just...don't."

"Look, Joe, things ain't been the same between us since before we come home. Both you and I know it. You ain't...comfortable around me."

"That's ridiculous," he said into the pillow.

"Ridiculous, is it? Then how come you ask for Hop Sing and Pa, but tell them you don't need nothin' when they tell you they'll send me?"

Joe glanced at him. "You must have forgot to wear your hat in the sun again. You're imagining things, older brother."

"Like you thinkin' I was gonna shoot you?"

Joe's body went rigid. A shiver ran the length of it, visible even under the covers. When he spoke, he barely could.

"Why...why would you...think that?"

"Well, let's see, we been home nine days and you've done had nightmares for six of them." Hoss leaned back in the chair. His smile was weary. "Anyone ever told you that you done got a powerful set of lungs on you?"

Joe's look was wary. "What'd I say?"

The big man pursed his lips. "Don't shoot', and then you called my name."

"So? You know what they say about dreams. You can't take them serious."

"That ain't what brother Adam used to say," Hoss countered. "He said they was the windows to the soul."

"It's too late and I'm too tired for poetry, Hoss."

"But it ain't too late to tell the truth, little brother, and then maybe _both_ of us can get some sleep."

Joe shifted. It pained him, but he slowly pulled himself up into a seated position and looked straight at him. There was somethin' in his eyes, a hunger maybe – maybe a need.

"You really want to know?" he asked.

The big man nodded.

Joe swallowed hard. He blinked and ran a hand nervouslike through his hair before smilin' that smile he had – the one that lifted just one side of his face.

"It's silly."

"It ain't silly little brother, if it's painin' you."

"It's just I know you wouldn't...I mean, I know..." Joe paused. "You wouldn't hurt me."

"I ain't never meant to."

Joe heard the catch in his voice. "What?"

"You first. You tell me what that nightmare of yours is about."

His brother drew in a deep breath. Then he nodded. "I'm running through a field. Trying to get away from, well, now I know it was Fenton and Flanders. I've got a bullet in my leg and I _know_ if they catch me there'll be more – probably one through my head."

It was hard to hear. Joe might be describin' a dream, but it was what had _really_ happened.

"I fall. I'm layin' on the ground and then I hear a wagon. It's coming toward me. I see someone getting down, puttin' their boot on the hub." Joe's eyes, full of misery, flicked to his face. "It's you, Hoss. It's you."

He nodded. "And..."

"And...I think I'm rescued. I mean, there you are, comin' toward me. I reach out toward you. I'm smiling. Big brother has come to rescue me and then..."

Joe's voice trailed off.

Little brother was sweatin' somethin' fierce. His chest was risin' and fallin' fast as a stallion's hooves. He wet his lips as his white-knuckled fingers clutched the covers.

"Hoss, I think I'm gonna be sick..."

Luckily Hop Sing had left a basin by the bed. He held it while his brother threw up and then took it to the hall and left it outside the door. Then he did something he hadn't done since his brother was little. He came back into the room, went to the bed and sat on the side of it and placed a hand on Joe's leg.

"I'm real sorry, little brother," he said and meant it .

"Sorry for what? Makin' me puke?"

Joe was doin' that other thing he was good at – usin' humor to make you forget what he _wanted_ you to forget.

"For shootin' you."

Joe snorted. "Ah, Hoss. I was out of my head. I might've thought Cochise was shootin' at me – or asking me to dance."

"Joe. Look at me." He waited until he had. "It ain't a fever dream. It's real. I did shoot you."

The smile died on his brother's lips when he realized he was serious.

"You weren't there, Hoss. _Nobody_ was there but Flanders and Fenton."

"And I'm sorry for that too." The big man paused. He hadn't let himself think about it for years. Decades, really. He'd panicked and his little brother had almost paid for it with his life. "You was too little. You don't remember."

Joe straightened up in the bed. He was listenin' now. "How little?"

Hoss sighed. "I wasn't eleven. I think you just turned five."

"Mama was –"

"Yeah, she was gone." Hoss smiled sadly. "Good thing too. She would of kilt me if she'd found out."

"Found out what?"

Twenty-five years had passed since that day. There'd been times when he forgot, but what almost happened – what he had _almost_ done – came back to haunt him in his nightmares, just like it did his little brother.

"Hoss?"

Joe was holdin' onto his arm, tryin' to comfort _him._ They locked eyes.

"Tell me," he said.

And he did.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One – The Past

oooooooooo

Seventeen-year-old Adam Cartwright looked at the list he had just composed, then he pinched his nose and sighed.

"Let's see. Where do I start?" he groaned.

First there was the payroll, which was due in a few days. Then, there was the preparation for the cattle drive that was set to begin the next week. After that were listed the more mundane tasks Pa had left for him such as checking the fence on their perimeter and shoring up the outbuildings before the snow flew. Then came the business affairs, which included a contract that had to be renegotiated before the deadline that was three days away. Even _farther_ down on the rumpled cream-colored piece of paper were the things Hop Sing had added before he left for Sacramento such as purchasing enough food and medicine to make it through the winter and – since they had no mother to sew their clothes, not that Marie's greatest gift had been sewing – picking up enough clothing to last until Spring, which was quite a lot considering there were two growing boys under the age of ten in the house. And then _– then,_ there were the ordinary _everyday_ things that had to be done like caring for the livestock and picking his brothers up after school. Little Joe still had a problem if he didn't. His baby brother was sure anytime anyone was out of his sight that they were dead. On top of nursemaiding Joe, he had to make sure the two boys ate, took their baths, did their homework, and actually went to bed when ordered. One time he found the two of them playing checkers on Joe' bed at two a.m.!

Adam dropped the list on his father's desk and ran a hand over his eyes. He was lucky if he got four hours of sleep a night. Hop Sing yelled at him about it, but by the time he got everything done, it tended to be the wee hours of the morning.

Which was just about the time Little Joe usually woke up screaming.

After that came an hour or two of sitting with the little boy and assuring him that though his mama couldn't come back – much as she wanted to – his papa would return soon.

Adam turned and looked out the window beyond the dining table. He hated lying to the little tyke, but what was he supposed to do? Four months had passed since Marie had died in a fall from her horse and in that time he might have seen his father twice as many times. Pa would come home to make sure they were all breathing and then go out again, God only knew where. He said he was attending to the Ponderosa's 'greater' business.

What he was doing was running away. Pa couldn't stand to be in the house with Marie's things and that, sadly, included Little Joe. The kid was a dead ringer for his mother.

Adam winced. _Poor_ choice of words.

Moving across the great room, the tired teen dropped onto one of the dining room chairs and anchored his elbows on the wooden table. The last time Pa had come home, it had been late. He'd entered the house around midnight looking like a ghost. They'd chatted a bit and then the older man had gone upstairs. He found him later sitting in Little Joe's room, staring – just...staring at the boy. He'd wanted to shout at him – no, to _scream_ , but the look on Pa's face – the utter devastation and raw naked grief – had silenced him.

It seemed the Cartwright way was to shut down in the face of inexplicable loss. And it wasn't like _he_ was a stranger to it. It was how he had survived losing Hoss' mother.

Who was he to judge?

With a sigh, the teenager leaned forward and rested his head on his arms. Little Joe and Hoss were due home shortly. Even though Joe had just turned five, after Marie's death, Pa had enrolled him in school. He was a smart little kid. Probably too smart for his own good. Joe was already sure he was as good as Hoss at everything and should be allowed to do everything the ten-year-old – who was the size of a thirteen year old – could do. It had led to some pretty interesting moments, like the time Joe decided in the middle of the night that he could rope a steer and walked out of the house and into the corral wearing nothing but his birthday suit.

Shifting, Adam found a comfortable spot where his neck wasn't cricked. _Just for a second_ , he thought, just for a _second_ I'll close my eyes. He'd sent one of the hands to fetch his brothers. Dusty was a surly old thing except, funny enough, when it came to kids. He'd actually volunteered for the job and said he'd run the pair past the mercantile and buy them a peppermint stick each before he brought them home. One of the other hands told him that Dusty had lost his family early on to Indians. The old wrangler had grown hard to survive, but still had a soft spot for children due to the ones he'd lost. They were due to arrive any time. He was sure he'd hear the horses and wake up when they did.

Closing his eyes, Adam willed his mind to stop whirling.

It wasn't long before he was sound asleep.

oooooooooo

Dusty didn't bring them to the house. He dropped them off at the end of the yard and headed back out with another of Pa's hands to help a man who had got hurt. The older man had looked at him and said, "Hoss, now you be sure to tell your older brother where I went and why. I don't want him thinkin' I shirked my duty."

The oversized ten-year-old had nodded and said he would, even though he didn't know exactly what it meant for someone to 'shirk' somethin'. He was pretty sure it wasn't a good thing, but that was about as far as it went.

A second later he felt sticky fingers slip into his own.

"I want to go inside," Joe announced.

Hoss' lips twitched when he looked down at his brother. Little Joe's nose was white and his lips were about as red as Mancey's. Mancey was a saloon girl in Eagle Station that Adam talked to when he thought no one was watchin'. It looked like Joe'd run his sticky fingers through his hair too 'cause them curls of his was clumped together like they was wet. And worst of all, the front of his white shirt weren't white anymore, it were pink.

Adam was gonna have himself a conniption fit.

At that thought, Hoss realized older brother hadn't come out to greet them like he usually did. For a second Hoss was afraid, but then he told himself he was too big for that. Hadn't Dusty told him just the day before that he was gonna talk to Adam about him goin' huntin' with him and lettin' him take a rifle? His chest puffed out at that. He was nearly all growed up. Why, he knew of a couple of boys in the settlement no older than him had been left without a pa or ma and they was takin' care of themselves, workin' their farm and huntin' for food and the like. Adam would know that too. He'd let him go. He was sure of it.

Well, almost sure. Pa and Adam was kind of funny about guns.

"Hoss, come on!" Little Joe said, tugging at his hand. "I want to tell Adam what that teacher lady said."

"Teacher lady?" He frowned. "You mean Miss Jones?"

Joe's curly head was bobbin'. He sure was a cute little cuss when he did that.

"Little Joe, now you just settle down. What'd she say that's got you in such an all-fired hurry?"

His curls flew the other way. "She said I had to tell Adam. You ain't Adam."

"No, but I'm bigger than you and I can pick you up and throw you in that horse trough if'n you don't," he countered.

"I don't need a bath," Joe declared.

"You sure do," Hoss said as he scooped his brother up off the ground. "I can tell you, you don't want to go talkin' to Adam 'til we got you all cleaned up."

"But I _gotta_ tell him!" Joe wailed. "The teacher lady told me I would be a good boy if I did. Pa told me I should be a good boy." Little Joe sniffed and his voice trailed off. "Maybe if she tells him I was good then Pa will come home..."

They were just outside the front door. Hoss jerked to a stop. He didn't understand why their pa had gone away, but he knew for sure it had nothin' to do with Little Joe.

The things kids got in their heads!

Hoss dropped his brother and then knelt before him. "How about this? You and me will sneak upstairs and get you all cleaned up and in a new shirt and _then_ we'll tell Adam what Miss Jones said."

Little Joe was scowling. You could almost see the wheels turning behind those great big green puppy dog eyes of his.

"It'll count the same if we wait?"

"Sure it will. It'll be more of a...surprise. Yeah, a surprise." He had a pretty good idea what Miss Jones had said.

Joe was amazin'. He could turn from shadow to sunshine faster than anyone he'd ever knowed. A brilliant smile lit his baby brother's face. "I love surprises! I bet Adam does too."

Hoss smirked. "Kind of depends on what the surprise is, little brother."

Little Joe looked from side to side and then leaned in and said in a whisper, "Miss Jones said to tell Adam she needs him to help her with the older boys 'cause he's so inte...inte...intefectual." Joe paused and then pronounced his five-year-old judgment. "I think she likes him."

The ten-year-old shook his head. "That Miss Jones," he snorted. "She's gotta be old enough to be Adam's ma."

There went the sunshine again. Joe sniffed. "I miss my ma."

Of all the stupid lunk-headed things! Why'd he have to go and say somethin' so stupid?

"I'm sorry, Little Joe," Hoss said, wrapping his arms around his brother. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"Who's cryin'?" Joe stuck out his lip. "Big boys don't cry."

"That's right. So you just suck it in and button your lip and we'll go in real quiet-like and get up that staircase for Adam knows we're home." Hoss stuck his hand out. "Deal?"

Little Joe took it and shook it hard, transferring the last remnants of his peppermint stick to his fingers.

Hoss looked at them and sighed.

And then stuck them in his mouth.

oooooooooo

Adam stirred. He blinked sleep from his eyes and sat up – and then realized the sun had gone down. With a start, he stood so quickly he tipped his chair over. A distressed gasp made him look up – and was met with a gasp of his own.

Hoss was reaching for the gun rack. On the floor beside him, Little Joe was playing with the carved horses his mother had given him on that last Christmas.

"What do you think you are doing?!" the teen shouted as he worked his way through the cobwebs of sleep and headed for the area near the stair.

Hoss jumped and turned around faster than a cat with his tail on fire. In his haste, he stepped on one of Joe's horses. Adam winced as he heard the wooden animal snap.

And then the wail.

"Hoss...broked...my...pony!"

Good God.

In ten steps he'd reached the little boy and scooped him up. Joe threw his arms around his neck and took hold so tightly it was all he could do to manage to squeak out, "The horse, Hoss? Can it be mended?"

It was hard to hear above Little Joe's sobs, but his middle brother's shake of the head was all he needed.

"Joe. I'll get you another horse, okay? Even prettier," he said.

"But...mama... gave...me...that horse. You...ain't mama!"

Yes. I am, Adam thought. I _definitely_ am.

The teen fixed his middle brother with his most serious stare. "You wait here for me. I'm going to take Little Joe up and put him to bed. And you stay away from that gun case! Do you understand?"

Hoss met his serious stare with a somewhat defiant look and then dropped his head. "I hear ya."

Tomorrow, he swore, _tomorrow_ he was going to go into town and hire some woman to come out and deal with these two until their pa got back. He had no time for this. That list as long as his arm was waiting for him and he hadn't gotten one single thing done.

Not one!

ooooooooo

An hour passed before Adam managed to make it downstairs. He'd had to let Little Joe cry himself out. His brother had been inconsolable about the broken horse. Of course, it wasn't really the horse, it was the fact that his baby brother had witnessed his mother's accident, watched her die in his father's arms, and then 'lost' his father as well all within a period of weeks. As his boot struck the ground floor, the teen tossed a look at the tall case clock. It was well past both of his brothers' bedtimes. Past his too.

And he was sure Little Joe was _not_ going to let him sleep through the night.

It took Adam a moment to find Hoss. He was sitting at the dining table with his head in his hands. The older boy crossed over to the table and sat down and waited for his brother to look up.

"Do you understand why I was angry?" Adam asked.

"Dusty said – "

"I don't care what Dusty said. You answer to me."

Reluctantly, the ten-year-old nodded. "I understand. But Adam, I can handle a gun – "

"And you would know that _because?"_

Dear Lord, he sounded like his father!

Hoss winced. "Cause Dusty let me shoot his rifle."

"Oh, he did, did he? Well, I'll just have to have a talk with Dusty about that in the morning."

"Adam, I ain't a kid. I'm near eleven years old! Tom and Jack Sanders are my age and they carry rifles and use them too!"

Adam drew a breath. When he'd been Hoss' age, he'd known how to shoot a rifle. He'd had too. He had to protect Hoss.

But that had been a different world.

"Hoss, don't you realize that what you did tonight – doing something you know you have been told _not_ to do – proves you _aren't_ ready?"

Hoss was silent a moment. "I'm sorry, Adam," he said at last. "I wanted to look at that rifle of Pa's. The one Ma got him last Christmas with the silver 'C' in the handle." His little brother swallowed hard. "I wanted to hold it. I didn't think you'd mind."

"You didn't think I'd know since I was asleep."

There was a trace of a grin. "That too."

Pa had left the rifle behind when he took off. It, like the house and Little Joe, reminded him of Marie. She'd had it made special for him.

Adam leaned back in his chair and studied his brother. Hoss wasn't a bad kid. He was just...a kid. The trouble was, in the West, it took nothing for a kid to end up dead.

"Look. We'll forget it this time, but don't do it again. For one thing, Little Joe was watching. What if he decided to climb up on a chair and get a rifle from the rack?"

"It wouldn't be loaded."

Adam rolled his eyes. "Most likely not, but you never know. Sometimes Pa leaves one loaded so he or I can grab it quick if trouble comes. You can't take that chance."

Hoss' eyes were the most crystal clear blue he had ever seen, like a mountain spring. They hid nothing. He could see his brother was truly repentant for what he had done.

"I'm sorry, Adam. I won't do it again."

The teen smiled as he rose and pushed off from the table. "Okay. Now, I think both you and I should try to get some sleep. Marie's alarm clock is set to go off about three a.m."

Hoss was on his feet too. "Marie's alarm clock?"

His step-mother had one. It had been a gift from a French admirer and was the latest fad in New Orleans. But that wasn't what he was talking about.

"Little Joe. I imagine that's about the time he'll start yelling."


	3. Chapter 2

TWO

oooooooooo

The next day Harriet Guthrie came to stay. Mrs. Guthrie had lost her family the year before to a fever that raged through the town. She'd had two little boys of her own, so whenever Pa asked her to come out for a few days, she jumped at the chance. Adam smiled as the older woman placed a plate of pancakes before him and then ruffled Little Joe's curls before returning to the kitchen. The only thing that concerned him about leaving her alone to care for the little scamp and Hoss for the two to three days it would take him to ride to Carson City where he was to negotiate that contract and back, was that he knew Little Joe could wrap her around his little finger. He'd probably come home to find the boy twice as fat and three times as sassy.

Of course, with Little Joe, the 'twice as fat' couldn't hurt.

"Adam."

The teen looked over his forkful of pancake at his middle brother. He knew what was coming. He also knew what his reply would be.

"How come I cain't go with you?" Hoss pleaded.

"Because we can't leave Mrs. Guthrie here alone with Little Joe. She needs someone to look after her too."

"What about Dusty?"

He'd put the pancake in his mouth. He nearly spit it out.

"Well, for one thing," he replied, "Dusty has more than enough to do since Jake is injured. And for another, you know he's heading out tonight to check on the herd." Dusty was the most experienced man left on the ranch. He was going out to show the ropes to a couple of the younger hands who were going on their first drive. After that, he'd turn them loose and return to do whatever it was Mrs. Guthrie needed him to do. It worried him a little to leave the widow and his young brothers for all intents and purposes alone tonight, but he had no choice. If they lost that contract they might not make it through the coming year. Mrs. Guthrie, of course, had assured him that she would be fine. She knew how to use a rifle and wasn't afraid to do so.

He believed her.

"I know, Adam, but..." Hoss glanced at his younger brother. Little Joe had made a mountain out of his pancakes. One of his remaining wooden horses was riding toward it. "It makes me feel like a kid havin' to stay home with Little Joe.

"I ain't no kid!" Joe protested as his horse splashed through a gushing stream of syrup.

Adam dabbed at the aftermath of the charge that dotted the checked tablecloth with his napkin before speaking. "Of course not, Joe. You'll help Hoss take care of Mrs. Guthrie, right?"

Joe's eyes went wide over the top of the wooden horse whose hoof he was sucking on. "Mrs. Gurther's nicer than Hop Sing," he said as he pulled it out. "She lets me have all the cookies I want."

"Guthrie, Joe." Adam sat back in his chair and pinned his middle brother with a questioning stare. "I need to hear you tell me I can count on you, Hoss. Otherwise I won't go."

"But don't you gotta Adam?" his sibling asked.

"I could send someone else – Hiram, maybe – but I'd rather not. It's important I represent Pa. His partner's need to know he's still in the game." He paused. "We need that contract. It will help to secure our northern border among other things."

Little Joe raised his hand, pretending to hold a gun. "Pa'll shoot dead anyone who comes on our land who ain't s'posed to. Ain't that right, Adam?"

Adam ran a hand over his face. His father's bluster – meant to intimidate – could be, at times, a bit misleading.

"Only if they threaten us, Joe, and then after we give them a chance to explain. Pa just... Well... Pa just means to scare them off."

Joe sniffed as tears formed in his eyes. "Pa scares me sometimes."

Adam just about melted into a puddle. He held his hands out. "Come here, Joe. Please." Once his little brother had climbed into his lap, he squeezed him tight and held him close. "Pa doesn't mean to he harsh, Joe. He's just... Well, he's kind of lost now."

"How comes he got lost? Wasn't he lookin' where he was goin'?"

The teen smiled. "Right now Pa tends to look backwards more than forwards, which doesn't help."

Joe was putting two and two together. "So Pa can't see where he's goin'? How come he doesn't take one of us to look out _for_ him?"

"That'd be smart, buddy. How about you tell him that next time he comes home?"

Little Joe nuzzled into his shirt, clutching the fabric with his syrupy fingers. "Pa ain't never comin' home," he said with a sigh.

He and Hoss exchanged a glance. "What makes you think that, Joe?" he asked.

Silent tears slipped down his brother's cheeks. "He don't like me."

Hoss was on his feet. He came quickly to their side. "Little Joe, you know that ain't true! Pa loves you, just like he loves me and Adam."

Joe's curly head shook. "Mama liked me. She went away and I should have gone with her. I bet Mama misses me even if Pa don't."

Dear Lord! What did you say to that?

A soft voice spoke from behind them. "Little Joe, you told me about Hoss breaking your horse last night. Do you remember?"

Both he and Hoss turned to look at Harriet Guthrie. The blond woman had come in silently with a tray of milk and cookies in her hands.

Joe nodded.

"And do you remember telling me how you couldn't stand to look at your other horses because they reminded you of the one that was broken?" She had put the tray down and come to stand before them.

Joe nodded again...slowly.

Mrs. Guthrie knelt and placed a hand on Joe's knee. "It's like that for your papa. When he looks at you, he thinks about your mama and he gets sad." The older woman paused. "You were playing with your horses at the table. You got over them making you sad, didn't you?"

His little brother sniffed and nodded. "Uh huh."

The older woman opened her arms and Joe jumped into them. Rising with him balanced on her hip, she spoke as she wiped away his tears away with the tip of her apron. "One day your papa will look at you and be happy that you remind him of your mama. That way there will always be a little bit of her still with him. You have to give him time. Can you do that?"

Joe's lips twisted and he scowled, thinking hard. "Maybe 'til tomorrow. That's an awful long time. Is it long enough?"

Mrs. Guthrie hid her smile as she raked her fingers through Joe's golden-brown curls, pushing them off of his face. "Well, let's start with that and we'll take it day by day. Shall we?" A second later she looked at her hand and exclaimed, "Child, what have you done? Taken a bath in the honey?"

"It's syrup," Adam said quietly. "His horse had to ford a river."

The older woman laughed. "Well, it's time this little one forded a river of his own. I think a bath is in order!"

"I don't want no bath!" Joe proclaimed and started wiggling. "I ain't dirty!"

Hoss leaned in close. "Joe, you remember your last bath? You was captainin' that ship and the pirates was comin'? Hop Sing came in and stopped us before we could fire the cannons. Well, he ain't here. Is he?" His blue eyes fixed on the older lady. She smiled and nodded. "Now you go on with Ms. Guthrie and I'll come up in a minute or two and bring the shot. Okay?"

Joe's irrepressible giggle made them all smile. "Heave to, laddie!" he shouted.

"Hoist the mizzenmast!" Hoss responded.

As Mrs. Guthrie mounted the stairs, Adam turned to his middle brother. Hoss' smile had faded and he looked thoughtful.

"Poor little kid," he said at last. "You and me, Adam, we ain't never had a mama, so's we cain't miss 'em." He stopped short. "I mean, there was 'mama', but she wasn't – "

He clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I know what you mean. Joe has a great big hole in his heart and I think the only thing that can fill it is Pa." He sighed. "I just wish Pa understood that."

"He will, Adam. He will."

The teen nodded. He just hoped it was soon enough for little Joe, and that their father's absence didn't leave permanent scars.

"Adam?"

He looked at his brother. "Yes."

"You can count on me while you're gone. I'll watch over Little Joe and Ms. Guthrie and won't let nothin' happen to them."

Adam thought a moment and then came to a decision. Unlikely as it was, it _could_ come to that – Hoss defending their home. And Hoss _was_ a responsible kid.

It was time he proved to him that he believed it.

"Come with me. I have something to show you."

His middle brother frowned but did as he was asked. "What is it?"

The teen crossed to their father's desk and took a seat. He reached under the desk for the hidden key and then proceeded to unlock the top right hand drawer. Once it was open, he drew out a Colt.45 revolver.

Hoss whistled. "That sure is a beauty."

"It's Pa's and it's always loaded." Adam closed his fingers on the elegant handle. "It's here in case of trouble."

His brother looked a little green, as if he knew what was coming. "Okay."

"I want you to come outside. I'm going to show you how to use it."

"I thought you said I wasn't s'posed to play with guns, not even a rifle!"

Adam nodded. "You're not. This isn't playing. This is...protection. Mrs. Guthrie knows how to handle a rifle, but in case she's away or something happens to her and you have to do something to protect yourself and Joe... Well, I want you to be prepared."

"Somethin' happens? Like what?"

He didn't want to scare the boy, but the territory they lived in was wild and there was no predicting what might occur. Thieves, banditos, even men just down on their luck – all could pose a threat to two young boys and a woman alone. Of course, the odds of something happening in the brief time they would _be_ alone were astronomical.

Still...

"I don't know, Adam," Hoss said, his eyes wide as he looked at the weapon.

He hid his smile. "I thought you wanted to handle Pa's rifle."

"Just 'handle it'. Shootin' it is another thing. S'pose I do somethin' wrong?"

Adam closed the drawer and stood with the pistol in his hand. "That's why I want to show you what to do." He paused. "Has Dusty let you handle a pistol? Just answer. I won't get mad."

His brother shrugged. "A couple of times, just for balance. Ain't shot it, though."

"Okay. Well, it's not hard. It's lighter and easier to aim that a rifle. And remember, if it comes to it, just showing the weapon will probably be enough to chase trouble away. I don't think any hard cases are going to show up."

And with that, Adam led his younger brother to and through the door and into the yard.

oooooooooo

"You're sure you saw old man Cartwright ride out, Jasper?"

Dawson Dubbs, thin as a bed slat and rangy as a prairie chicken, with wheat stalk hair and eyes the color of dirt, spit out a wad of tobacco, missing the lizard he was aiming at before answering. "You blind or somethin'?" he asked. "Back on the trail? The old man rode right past us while you was sleepin'."

Jasper, as dark as his younger half-brother was pale, with a beak of a nose like a hawk and narrow, nasty black eyes to match, echoed, "While I was sleeping?" He cut Dawson's nod off by back-handing him. "That woman that whelped you wasn't fit for a drinking man to hole up with," Jasper sighed. "If I was asleep, how was I supposed to know Cartwright rode past?"

"I figured you woke up."

"Did I say I woke up?"

Dawson shrugged. "You always tell me you're a light sleeper."

Jasper Dubbs shook his head. All his half-brother knew about brains was that you could buy them scrambled. Their pa had made him promise to look after him, but at the moment finding a nice cozy jail he could leave him in and send regular letters to was looking good.

Making an abrupt gesture with his hand, he asked, "Did you see which way he went?"

"Toward Eagle Station," Dawson answered.

So, if Cartwright went to town, it was a good four to five hours there and back at a quick clip. Odds were he'd stay the night. Hell, odds were, he'd stay a week from what one of the old man's hands had told him over a beer. Seems the rich man had lost his wife half a year back and just didn't care about nothing anymore.

That was fine. He'd just relieve him of the burden of all those nice things in his house including the payroll in his safe.

"You nose around about who's in the house like I asked?"

Dawson looked at him like _he_ was the idiot. "Course, I did. Most of the men are gone, gettin' ready for the drive. That old one...Dusty, I think? He's gone for a couple of days, and the oldest one of them Cartwright boys is s'posed to leave tonight for Carson City."

"But you haven't seen him leave?"

His half-brother shook his head. "Ain't come by this way. Only one come by here was a woman headed _toward_ the Ponderosa. Since that Chink is gone, they probably hired her to cook or maybe watch the brats."

A woman and two boys. A few scattered hands, maybe paying attention, most likely not. Not too bad. Shouldn't be too hard to take the house. And if things got messy, well, the high and mighty Ben Cartwright deserved it. His pa had worked for the rancher once upon a time and been let go for drinking on the job. Ma'd left after that and things had just gone to hell. A month or two later Pa'd married the hussy that whelped Dawson. That woman, well, she'd lived in the badlands where the lights are red and the carpets soft. Didn't take too kindly to homestead life. It wasn't too long for she was gone too. Took all the savings with her. After she left, Pa drank himself to death.

Jasper spit again and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

He held Ben Cartwright responsible.

"We gonna wait 'til it's dark?"

"No, we're gonna rob the house in broad daylight," he groused. "What are you? An idiot?"

"Now, Jasper, you ain't got no right to –"

"I gotta every right to call you an idiot because you are one. " Jasper turned and headed for his horse that was ground tethered nearby. "I'm not being mean. Just telling the truth."

"Well, it still ain't nice," his half-brother said as he mounted up.

As Jasper settled in the saddle, he snorted, "Never said I was nice. Just honest. Now, come on. We got us a ways to go and we need to be in place before sundown."

oooooooooo

"I ain't so sure about this, Adam." Hoss's blue eyes were wide. "I mean, pointin' a gun at a tin can is one thing..."

"Pointing it at a man with the intent to do him harm is another. I know." Adam pursed his lips and let out a little sigh. It pained him to see his almost eleven-year-old brother holding a pistol and pointing it at the straw 'man' he'd constructed. "I wouldn't be happy if you felt any different." He paused. "Maybe you can think of it this way. Odds are you wouldn't have to shoot. Most bad men are cowards and will turn tail and run if they see a gun pointed at them."

"You mean all I gotta do is scare them off? Kind of like a scarecrow?"

His hand came down on his brother's shoulder. He'd had Hoss take a couple of empty shots at the straw man, just so he could get used to the gun's weight and learn how to balance it. He was a big kid, so he really hadn't had any trouble. It was a double-edged sword. He was glad to see that Hoss was uncomfortable holding the weapon. Still, if for some unforeseen reason he needed to hold it and _use_ it, he also needed to feel confident.

Adam waited until his brother looked at him. "Are you all right with this?"

Hoss drew in a breath and let it out slowly. Then he nodded. "Yeah, I can do it if I hafta."

"BANG BANG!" a voice proclaimed from close behind them. Adam pivoted, pistol in hand but quickly dropped it when he saw who the little noisemaker was.

"Little Joe! What are you doing out here?" he asked, his voice harsh. "I thought I told you to stay inside!"

Tears welled up in the little boy's eyes. He sniffed between just about every word. "Mrs. Guthrie...told...me to...find...you..."

That's right. He hadn't told the older woman what they were doing. Placing the pistol on a nearby hay bale, Adam went over to Joe and scooped him up off the floor. Holding him in front of him, he looked right into those big green eyes.

"I'm sorry, Little Joe. I shouldn't have yelled. You startled me. Can you forgive me?"

Joe shuddered with a sob, but nodded his head.

Adam ruffled his brother's curls as he smiled. "What did Mrs. Guthrie say?"

The little boy sniffed again and then his face lit up with the most amazing smile. "Time for chocolate cake!"

Twirling Joe like a lariat, Adam hoisted him onto his shoulders and took a step toward the house. A moment later he turned back. "You coming, Hoss?"

His brother was frowning. Hoss indicated the hay bale with a nod. "What about...you know?"

How could he have forgotten?

"Come here, will you?" he asked the ten-year-old. When Hoss obliged, he said, "Go out for a pass."

Hoss nodded eagerly as he ran forward. "You got it."

Adam looked up at his littlest brother. "Ready to fly, Little Joe?"

Joe's answer was to spread his arms wide.

"One...two...three!" The teen smiled as he watched his giant of a middle brother catch and then cart his baby brother toward the house. He'd _never_ get tired of that giggle. "I'll come in a minute," he called after them. "I need to saddle my horse so I can head out before dark. You be sure to leave some cake for me!"

Hoss had Joe turned upside-down. The little boy was dangling over his back. "No promises, big brother!" he replied.

"No promises!" Joe echoed.

With a sigh, Adam turned from his brothers and went to the hay bale and picked up his father's pistol . Such a simple thing, but one little mistake like he had just made could mean the difference between life and death. This time he'd emptied the revolver before handing it to Hoss.

But if he hadn't and Joe had gotten hold of it...


	4. Chapter 3

THREE

oooooooooo

He was powerful hungry.

Hoss Cartwright winced as his stomach growled again and then sat up and looked to the side. His little brother was lyin' next to him, sound asleep. Well, 'burrowed in' might be a better way to put it. Joe's nose was shoved into the feather pillow and his little rump was sticking up in the air half in and half out of the covers. As he watched, his brother shifted and rolled to the side and drew his legs up and then he kicked out.

Sleepin' with little Joe was like sleepin' in a grizzly's cave.

Reaching over, Hoss untangled the covers and pulled them up around his brother's shoulders. Then he slipped from the bed just as his tummy let out another mighty howl. He glanced at Little Joe again, but his brother didn't stir. He was lyin' all curled up with his thumb in his mouth. Before Mama'd died, Pa'd tried to break him of doin' that. He'd heard him tell Little Joe that if he wanted to be all growed up like him and Adam, then he had to cut it out.

After Mama died, well, Pa didn't say nothin' no more.

When he reached the door to his room, Hoss looked back again. Little Joe still hadn't moved, so that meant he was right and good asleep. It would only take him a few minutes to go down to the kitchen and grab a piece of chocolate cake and a glass of milk and beat it back up to his room. Adam had left after the noon meal and Mrs. Guthrie had said it was too soon at supper for another piece. They'd just have to wait for the next day.

The way he figured it, it was after midnight now so it _was_ the next day.

Quietly closing the door behind him, the ten-year-old headed out into the hall. He didn't put his slippers on 'cause Mrs. Guthrie was sleepin' in the guest room downstairs. Hoss knew he'd have to be _real_ quiet so as not to wake her and he figured bare feet was best. He remembered he'd told Pa once that it seemed like Mama had extra ears or somethin'. Pa had told him God made women like that 'cause he made little boys like him.

Them had been good days.

Fearful one of the boards on the stairs would squeak, Hoss caught hold of the railing and made his way down slowly. He was lookin' at his feet instead of lookin' up and had made it all the way to the bottom before he realized somethin' was wrong.

Somethin' was _very_ wrong.

Mrs. Guthrie was standin' by the dining room table. There was a tall blond man behind her and he had his hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and wild and she was shakin' her head and makin' sounds like she was tryin' to talk. A second later she got real quiet as the man holdin' her pulled a pistol out of his holster and pointed it, not at her, but at him.

The sound of a chair scrapin' on the floor drew Hoss' attention to the other side of the great room to where Pa had his office. Everything that had been on his pa's desk was on the floor in front of it, and there was a big man with black hair and a thick mustache standin' behind the desk shoutin' words that would have earned him a trip to the woodshed if Pa'd been home. The man turned 'round and gave the safe on the wall a kick and then moved into the room until he stood in front of him.

"I thought you said Cartwright's brats were asleep!" the bad man yelled as he turned and looked at Mrs. Guthrie. She tried to answer, but she couldn't 'cause the other bad man had his hand over her mouth.

Hoss swallowed hard. "I...I was hungry," he said.

The dark-haired man focused his intense stare on him. He'd heard his pa talk about a man's eyes bein' cold.

He'd never understood what Pa meant 'til now.

The man nodded up the stairs. "Is your brother up there?"

"Little Joe's...asleep," he said, his voice trembling. It got stronger when he added, "You just leave him out of this."

The bad man snorted as he looked him up and down. "You want me to leave the kid alone? Then don't try anything." His hand dropped to the gun he wore slung low on his hip. "I'm telling you, boy. You make me mad, I'll take it out of _his_ hide not yours."

"Little Joe's only five!" he protested.

"Jasper, he's right. We got no call to hurt no kids," the blond man said.

"You shut up, Dawson." Before Hoss knew it, Jasper had reached out and caught hold of his nightshirt. He drew him in so close he could smell the liquor on his breath. "What're you , kid, twelve? Thirteen?"

He was big. Cause of that everybody always thought he was older than he looked. Hoss' eyes strayed to the office. He knew their rescue was in the upper right hand drawer of his pa's desk. He had to get to it. Hoss eyed the bad man again. If Jasper knew he was only ten, maybe he wouldn't watch him so close and he'd be free to move.

"Everyone thinks that, I ain't that old. I'll be eleven in about a month."

Jasper looked him up and down. Then he turned on Mrs. Guthrie. "Is he telling the truth?" As she nodded, he looked back. "Lord, boy! Your mama must have been big enough to shade an elephant!"

It was a good thing Hoss could hear Adam talkin' in his ear even though older brother wasn't there. _Keep calm_ , he was sayin'. _Don't let him get to you. He's not worth it._ Hoss drew a calming breath and let it out slowly, remembering the last thing Adam had said to him before walking out the door. _Remember what I told you, Hoss. Nothing in the house is worth your life or anyone else's. If it's only money or things they want, let them have them. But if you think Little Joe or Mrs. Guthrie are in danger, there's always the gun in the desk drawer._

"What is it you want, Mister?" he asked.

"The combination to that safe for one thing," Jasper snarled.

Hoss shook his head. "That I ain't got. Adam's the only one knows that and he ain't here."

"He's probably tellin' the truth, Jasper," Dawson said. "He's just a kid."

"Well, of course, he's tellin' the truth. Ain't no older brother stupid enough to trust something that important to a snot-nosed kid. We may just have to forget about the payroll." He looked around the room. "There's plenty of silver and other things. Ain't as good as cash, but maybe they'll have to do." Jasper pulled his gun and waved toward the settee. "Now you just go over there and sit yourself down, sonny, and stay put if you want me to leave that baby brother of yours alone."

Hoss did as he was told.

When he was satisfied that he had, Jasper turned to his brother and said, "Dawson, take the woman into the kitchen and tie her to a chair. If you find anything to eat, bring it back with you."

Dawson started to move and then paused. "Which do you want me to do first?"

Hoss watched as Jasper roll his eyes. "Little brother, if you ain't as useless as a milk bucket under a bull. Tie her up, _then_ bring the food!"

"You ain't gotta yell."

"Yeah, I do. Otherwise the words aren't gonna make it through that thick skull of yours."

Hoss frowned as he listened to the two bad men argue. They were brothers, but Jasper acted like he hated Dawson, who was the younger of the pair. Dawson couldn't do anythin' right so far as he was concerned and every time he got somethin' wrong, it just seemed to make Jasper angrier. He couldn't imagine Adam talkin' to him like that, or him doin' that with Little Joe.

All of a sudden he realized Jasper was standin' right next to him. Hoss tensed as he looked up.

"All right, boy, you're gonna take me upstairs and we're gonna see what there is to see."

A plan had been forming in his mind as he watched the brothers fight. It wasn't all the way worked out yet, but he had high hopes.

"You don't want to go up there," he said.

"How come? The five year old bigger than you?"

"No, but he's real annoyin'." God forgive me, Hoss thought, for lyin'. "You don't wanna wake Little Joe up. He's a cry baby."

Jasper stared at him and then burst out laughin'. "You don't sound like you like him much."

Hoss shrugged. "I ain't got much choice. I gotta like him. He's my brother."

The bad man snorted as he looked in the direction his brother had gone. "Hell, all that means is you gotta live with him. It doesn't mean you have to like him."

"You don't like Dawson much. Do you?"

Jasper pivoted to look at him. There was somethin' in his eyes. Somethin' scary. "I don't like him at all, kid. But he's got his uses."

"My name's Hoss, not 'kid'."

"Hoss?" he snorted. "What the hell kind of name is that?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know. Guess it means I'm kind of stupid. Leastwise that's what _my_ older brother thinks."

The bad man stared at him again, a _long_ moment. "I'll make a deal with you, kid...Hoss. We'll go upstairs real quiet-like. I just want to take a look in your Pa's room. I don't expect you boys have much worth stealin'."

"No, sir. Our pa's right stingy. Makes us work for wages."

Jasper shook his head. "Now, why doesn't that surprise me? So you want to get back at him, huh?"

Hoss crossed his fingers behind his back and nodded. "Sure do."

"You know, Hoss, I think you and me are gonna get along _just_ fine." Jasper put a hand on his shoulder and pressed him toward the stair. "Lead on."

oooooooooo

Little Joe Cartwright sat straight up in bed and opened his eyes. He blinked and looked around, surprised for a moment that he was not sleeping between his mama and his papa. Whenever he had a bad dream, he would run right out of his room and into theirs and dive in-between them. Pa would sigh and turn over, but mama would open her eyes and look at him and whisper, ' _tout à fait, mon petit'_ , and then put a finger to her lips as she lifted up her covers and let him snuggle up against her. When Pa woke up in the morning he pretended to be mad. He'd reach down under the covers and grab him and shake him and then toss him on the bed so he bounced and mama would laugh and laugh.

Someone was laughing.

It wasn't Mama.

Mama was...dead.

Joe rubbed his eyes and sniffed. He wasn't gonna cry. Big men didn't cry. At least, Adam didn't cry and he was a big man. Hoss did sometimes, but he was little too and that didn't count. Pa'd cried after mama died, but then his tears had all dried up and he just got mad.

Maybe that's what big men did when they were sad.

Get mad.

Little Joe sighed. He didn't like bein' mad, but if that's what he had to be to be a man, then that's what he'd do.

Right now he was mad at Hoss. He'd left him alone in the bed.

Hoss' bed was tall and big. Joe looked over the side and then – even though he was mad – grinned. He'd found the best way for getting out of Hoss' bed was to take hold of the covers and flip over and land on the floor.

Well, maybe not the best, but the funnest.

After a well-executed somersault that would have been the envy of any circus performer, the little boy started across the room. He looked at his slippers. He was supposed to wear slippers. But he was mad, so he wasn't gonna do anything anyone told him to do.

Yeah, he was mad. He had to remember that.

Little Joe stomped as he headed for the door. It wasn't very much fun 'cause bare feet didn't make much noise.

It would have been better in his slippers.

Still thinking that over, Joe reached the door and jumped up and grabbed the latch and brought it down and then swung it open – just in time to see Hoss and some big man he didn't know heading down the staircase. Frowning, Joe followed them but stopped at the top of the stairs. The big man had a hand on Hoss' shoulder and he was carrying something. Something square made of wood with a fancy gold clasp on the side of it.

Something that belonged to his dead mama...

"YOU PUT THAT BACK!"

oooooooooo

Hoss spun just in time to see Little Joe, his nostrils flaring and his brow near meetin' his nose, launch himself down the steps toward Jasper's legs. The bad man was startled, but he managed to side-step and Joe went tumblin' all the way down 'til he hit the great room floor with a mighty 'thud!'. For a second he didn't move. Then Joe sat up, looked around to see who was lookin', and let out the loudest, longest Gosh-awful wail you ever heard.

Jasper was taking the steps two at a time, his belt in his hand.

Hoss beat him to the bottom. "I told you he was a cry baby," he said quickly. "You hit him and he'll just cry louder."

The bad man was breathin' hard. "Maybe I'll just have to shut him up – permanently – then."

The ten-year-old swallowed hard. He'd been playin' up to Jasper, tryin' to make him think he didn't like his baby brother no more than Jasper liked his. He'd told the bad man how Little Joe always got his way and how Pa favored him, lettin' him get by with everythin'. He thought – maybe – if he could get Jasper to trust him, he could talk him into lettin' him go into the office with him. When they got upstairs, he'd remembered somethin'. There was a little slip of paper inside Mama's jewelry box, under the velvet lining, with numbers on it. It was the combination to the safe in the upstairs closet where Pa kept the diamonds Mama wore at her wedding. Pa said they were too 'temptin' to be left in the jewelry box and that he wanted to be sure they were safe so Little Joe's bride could wear them one day.

Joe's 'bride'. That sure did sound funny.

"I can get him to be quiet," Hoss said as he knelt before his brother, moving between Jasper and Joe before the bad man could hit him with his belt. Little Joe looked so pitiful he just wanted to pick him up and squeeze him, but if he did, all his hard work would be for nothin' and he'd never get into that office.

"Little Joe. Little Joe, you look at me!"

Joe looked up at his stern tone.

"If you don't want to go to the woodshed, you better stop that whinin'."

His baby brother blinked. For a moment Joe looked mighty confused, then he stuck his chin out and yelled, "You can't whup me! You ain't Pa!"

"I'm the oldest here. That means I get to _be_ Pa and I can!" he countered sharply, feelin' about two inches high.

Joe was thinkin' that one through. "Adam's older," he said at last.

"Yeah, but Adam ain't here. I am."

"Shut him up now, kid," Jasper growled as he hit the belt against his palm. "Or I will."

It wasn't an idle threat.

Fortunately, Jasper's kid brother chose that moment to reappear. He was carrying a tray with what was left of the chocolate cake on it. Hoss' stomach growled at the sight.

"Hey! He wasn't here before," Dawson said.

Jasper muttered an oath and then stepped over Little Joe, headed for his brother. Grabbing him by the collar he dragged him toward the kitchen wing. "You get back in there you good-for-nothing... "

As the two men disappeared, Hoss leaned in close to Joe and said, "Little Joe, don't you get upset. I'm playin' a game with Jasper. I'm pretendin' I'm just like him."

Joe sniffed. "He's not nice."

"No, he ain't. But Joe, I gotta play this game. You gotta trust me. I'm sorry if I say somethin' to hurt you, but – "

"Hey! Kid! What're you whispering about?"

Hoss held his brother's gaze for a moment and then said, "I was just tellin' Little Joe he'd better shut up or I'd make him."

Jasper halted by the table behind the settee. He leaned against it and crossed his arms. " _That_ I'd like to see."

Little Joe was lookin' at him with those big green eyes of his, with all the trust in the world shinin'' way deep down inside them. Hoss closed his eyes, drew a deep breath – and then he slapped his baby brother.

Hard.

Right on the face.

The sound reverberated through the room.

Hoss winced, waiting for Little Joe to cry. Instead, there was nothin'.

Just...nothin'.

"Hey, that was good, Hoss," Jasper said as he crossed to where he had put Mama's jewelry box down and opened it up. "I guess you ain't pretendin'. You really _do_ hate him."

He was lookin' right at Joe. His baby brother was starin' up at him.

"Yeah," he said, swallowin' over his misery. "I hate him."

"Hey, kid! Look here!"

Jasper had found the paper with the code. Just like he wanted him too. Maybe now he could save them all.

Hoss turned back to his brother. Little Joe was still starin' at him, lookin' like he'd lost his best friend.

'Cause he probably thought he had.

Hoss reached out toward him. "Little Joe, I..."

His brother drew back, terrified.

Jasper's hand came down on his shoulder. "Forget him. Come on, kid. Let's see what your old man has in his safe."

He had no choice.

Leaving Little Joe sitting on the floor, Hoss followed the outlaw into his father's office. As Jasper knelt by the safe, he went to stand by the right hand drawer – the one with the gun in it. Adam said he would leave it loaded and the drawer unlocked. All he had to do was catch a second – _one_ second when he could take it out and point the pistol toward Jasper and...

And...

Do whatever he had to do.

Hoss glanced over his shoulder. Dawson had come back in and was standing by the table eatin' a piece of chocolate cake. He didn't really think he had to worry about him. If Jasper went down, he was pretty sure Dawson would run. He felt sorry for the way Jasper treated his brother, but part of what the bad man said was true. Dawson wasn't very smart.

Hoss held his breath as he heard the tumblers click. Pretty soon Jasper would figure out he had the wrong combination and he'd be mad as a peeled rattler. Hoss edged his hand toward the drawer. He was afraid it was going to make a noise when he opened it, so he knew he'd have to open it fast. Jasper was mutterin' under his breath. He was tryin' the combination a second time. Hoss kept one eye on him and the other on the drawer as it inched open – one, two, three inches. _Almost_ enough to work his fingers in and take hold of the gun. Almost –

Jasper stood up.

Hoss moved so he was in front of the opened drawer. "Don't it work?" he asked.

"No!" Jasper ripped the paper in half and threw it to the floor. "There must have been another slip of paper in there," he said as he rounded the desk. "I'm gonna make it hotter than the hubs of Hell for Ben Cartwright if there ain't!"

Hoss watched him go and then looked down at the drawer. Trembling, he pulled it open. His hand slid in and his fingers closed around the gun's handle. "Yeah, it's gonna be a scorcher all right, but not for Pa," he said as pulled the pistol out of the drawer and pointed it.

Straight at Little Joe.


	5. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

oooooooooo

Adam Cartwright was numb. He sat beside the fire holding his baby brother, speaking soft words and rocking Little Joe while he sobbed inconsolably. Hoss wasn't much better. The ten-year-old was seated on the settee across from them. He had his head in his hands and was quietly weeping. Mrs. Guthrie was in the kitchen putting together a poultice to put on Joe's wound to take some of the fire out of it. Before she left the great room she had come to him and placed a hand on his shoulder and waited until he looked up. Then she'd handed him a glass of whiskey.

'Drink it down, Adam. Think of it as medicine,' the older woman said, looking at him with sympathy.

Adam closed his eyes and sighed. He still couldn't wrap his mind around what had happened. He'd approached the house expecting to find the lights out and everyone asleep. After all, it was nearly three in the morning. Instead the house had been brightly lit and a pair of strange horses were tethered outside.

The teen knew then his gut instinct to return had been right.

Dismounting, he left his horse near the barn and approached the house on foot. After making his way to the porch, he'd paused, listening. Hearing nothing, he'd decided to enter and had thrust the door open and stepped in with his weapon drawn.

Absurdly, the first thing he 'd seen was a tall, lean stranger with blond hair whose mouth was covered in chocolate icing.

The second was Hoss pointing their father's gun at Little Joe.

He'd barely had time to demand, jaw tight, 'What the _Hell_ is going on?' before he noticed a second man – one with eyes like a snake – standing by the hearth. He had Marie's jewelry box in his hands. As he watched the box fell and the man went for his gun.

Two shots split the night. The sound of both reverberated off the hearth stones and filled the room where he and his father and brothers normally sat reading, writing, talking, and playing games – just living their lives. The one he fired took the outlaw in the chest. The man's mouth gaped open in surprise and he fell to the floor stone dead. The blond man with the mouth full of cake stood there a moment and then turned tail and ran.

It took a sob to break into the unnatural calm that descended on the room after that. At first he thought it was Little Joe. It wasn't.

It was Hoss.

 _Little Joe_ looked like a broken rag doll. He was lying on the floor and there was a red stain slowly spreading across his forehead.

Adam shifted in his chair, unnerved by the possibilities, and pulled his little brother closer. After spotting Joe, his gaze had gone to the gun beside the dead outlaw and his heart had nearly stopped when he realized _it_ wasn't smoking. Two steps took him to his brothers' side. Hoss had dropped their father's gun and picked up Little Joe. The ten-year-old sat on the floor cradling the tiny boy while tears ran down his chubby cheeks.

"I killed him, Adam! I _killed_ Little Joe!" Hoss wailed. "I didn't mean to! I swear, I didn't know he was there! He must of got up off the floor and come lookin' for me while I was pullin' the gun out of the drawer. I didn't know he was there 'til..."

He remembered drawing a deep breath and looking down. Little Joe's eyes had been closed and he was very pale. The blood from his forehead was trailing into his curls –

And he was moving.

He'd nearly fainted.

"Hoss, Joe's not dead. Look. Hoss, _look!"_

His brother, though numb, had responded to his command and looked down. At that same instant Little Joe moaned and reached up toward the spot where the bullet from their father's gun had grazed him. His eyes opened and his lips parted and he spoke.

"...Pa..."

Adam leaned his head against the chair back and sighed.

Dear Lord, what _could_ have happened!

A hand on his shoulder brought his eyes open. The teen looked up to find Mrs. Guthrie studying him. He nodded his thanks as the older woman handed him the poultice.

"Are _you_ all right?" he asked her.

"Pshaw!" she said. "I'm fine. How is the little one?"

Alive, he thought.

Alive.

It had been while they were settling Little Joe on the settee for the first time, tucking blankets around him and speaking soft words to assure the tiny boy that everything was all right, that Hoss remembered to tell him Mrs. Guthrie was tied up in the kitchen. He hadn't want to leave his brothers alone, but he did so in order to free her. When she asked him why he'd come home, he'd explained that he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. At first he'd tried to put it off to the fact that he was uneasy leaving a woman alone with two little boys so far from town, but that didn't wash. He knew Harriet Guthrie was _more_ than competent. No, there had been something else – something most people would have called an 'intuition'.

Pa would have called it the voice of God.

Adam glanced at the little boy now sleeping in his arms and then he looked at Hoss. Rising, he placed Little Joe back on the settee, tucked him in again, and then motioned for to the ten-year-old to follow him to the foot of the stair. Then – gently – he asked Hoss to tell him what had happened. His brother wouldn't – or _couldn'_ t. For the longest time all he could do was cry and shake his head. Finally, when Hoss _did_ speak, it was in a choked voice and through a veil of tears. And what he said had nothing to do with what happened.

"It ain't never gonna be the same again, Adam," he said, his young heart broken, "with Little Joe and me. He ain't _never_ gonna trust me."

oooooooooo

oooooooooo

The Present

oooooooooo

Hoss fell silent. He stared at his hands for a long moment and then glanced up at his baby brother. Joe looked about like he had when he woke up after that rat Fenton done tried to smother him. His skin was pale and had a sheen to it. He was breathin' hard and his fingers were all twisted up with his covers.

"I don't remember any of it," Joe said, his tone flat.

"I didn't think you would, little brother. You was only a little squirt."

"That's twice."

The big man frowned. "Twice?"

"Twice I've forgotten something _really_ important. First Eagle's Nest. Now this."

Hoss nodded. "I been thinkin' about that, Joe. It does seems 'bout like the same thing. You know, I remember me Adam talkin' about somethin' called the _sub_ -conscious and how _it_ remembers what we forgot."

His brother's green eyes darted to him. There was a hint of humor in them. "You mean you were listening?"

"More often than older brother gave me credit for." He sort of smiled too. "'Bout like you, I imagine."

Joe scowled. "It's...scary."

"What is?"

"Losing time. Losing...things." Joe looked him square in the eye. "Do you think I'm goin' crazy?"

"Well, if you are, you got company." The big man shifted back in his chair. "You know, Joe, I think there's just some things a man ain't meant to remember. Maybe 'cause they's too hard, or they hurt too much."

There was a desperation in his brother's voice. "That just means he's weak."

Hoss shook his head. "No, it don't, Joe. It just means he's human."

Joe's jaw grew tight. "I don't see _you_ forgetting anything."

Hoss closed his eyes – and instantly regretted it. He could still see that little face with those wide trustin' eyes, smack-dab in the center of the sight of his Pa's Colt .45.

"I wish I could, Joe. You don't know how much I wish I _could_. I might've killed you." Hoss paused. "I almost did." Before Joe could protest, he went on, "But that weren't the worst thing. The worst thing was lookin' into those usually trustin' eyes of yours and seein' you was scared of me and knowin' – maybe – you'd never trust me again."

"You know I trust you."

The words were shot straight from his little brother's hip _and_ heart. Joe believed them.

He knew better.

"No. I don't think you do. Not in that there _sub_ -conscious of yours. Else you wouldn't have seen me holdin' that gun on you, talkin' about a 'scorcher' and smilin' when you was dyin'."

Joe stared at him for the longest time and then rested his head back on the pillows. "If I remember right, Adam said we had no control over the sub-conscious." When he said nothing, Joe turned and looked at him. "Right?"

Hoss shrugged. "What'd Adam know?"

That brought a shadow of Joe's infamous giggle. "You're just as blockheaded as he was," his brother said as he closed his eyes. For a moment Hoss thought Joe'd drifted off, but then those wide eyes that had been lookin' at him for nigh onto thirty years opened and fixed him. "You know? I _do_ remember one thing."

The big man shifted uncomfortably. "You do, huh?"

Joe nodded. "It's kind of vague. I remember waking up in my room later that night. Pa was there, sittin' on the edge of the bed, which I thought was kind of strange. I asked him why he was and he said you told him that I needed him. He said he understood now that we _all_ needed him and he was going to stay for good."

"He did, Joe. What happened that night done scared Pa for sure. He could of lost all three of us. After that, Pa didn't go away no more."

Joe carefully rolled over so he could look straight at him. "So, you see, brother, the only thing _I_ remember is that _you_ were the one responsible for Pa comin' back. I knew whatever you did that night – even though some of it seemed pretty funny to me – was so he would. My _sub_ -conscious may have blamed you for what happened – may have even stopped trusting you – but this boy's conscious knew who his best friend was." Joe reached out and circled his wrist with his fingers. "And _is_ ," he added softly.

Hoss sniffed. "Is it okay if I get mushy?"

Joe rolled his eyes. "If you _have_ to, you big lug."

"I love you, little brother."

Those green eyes lit, brighter than he had seen them do since Joe had been bushwhacked.

"Big brother, I love you too."


End file.
